


Free from all sorrowing

by Lexie



Category: Big Eden (2000)
Genre: AU, Everybody Lives, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 13:17:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13147512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/pseuds/Lexie
Summary: All his life, Sam has been a strong believer in letting things play out as God intended. He let first his son, then his grandson, learn by sometimes failing. He didn't stick his nose in.But maybe that isn't always the best way of things, with Henry.Maybe a little nudge, every once in a while, can't hurt.





	Free from all sorrowing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shopfront](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/gifts).



"I had a stroke; I'm not an infant," Sam grumbles, and, sitting at his hospital bedside, Henry throws up his hands.

" _Another_ stroke, that's a key detail you're missing there — two strokes! I think I'm entitled to a little concern!" The boy does look exhausted, which pricks Sam's guilty conscience; there are dark circles under his eyes. But while he's arguing, he's not slumped in the chair staring blankly at Sam. 

Henry's been by his bedside since Sam woke up. He was red-eyed and quiet at first, and then slowly he's turned combative in a way that Sam has found much easier to handle. It's not a hospital stay if at least one of them isn't snapping at the other, after all. Grace was here smoothing things over for a while, until Sam finally convinced her they'd be all right and she ought to get home. And Pike has come and gone like a ghost all night, always hanging back, but as far as Sam can tell, he hasn't left the hospital at all.

"Where'd Pike get himself to? He didn't nag me."

" _Nag_ you?" Henry sputters. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

Sam sighs sharply. It feels strange through the nasal cannula, but it's a step up over the oxygen mask he was in for hours. "No, but I can't stand the hovering. It's just not in me."

"Well, it's not in me to come home to find you gone again!" he snaps, and then he takes a deep breath, putting his hands to his head. "You had a stroke and now I'm yelling at you; great move, yelling at the guy in the hospital bed."

"This," says Sam, stabbing a finger at him, "this is just what I mean! I don't need to be coddled, Henry. They think it was a mini-stroke. I just want to go home!"

There's movement in the doorway. Sam glances over and finds Pike shifting in the doorway, newspaper in hand. 

"Pike," says Sam. "Come on in, son; don't let us stop you."

"Maybe you can talk some sense into him," Henry says to Pike brusquely, lurching out of the chair and heading straight for the door.

"Henry," Sam calls after him, exasperated, but Henry's been stubborn his whole damn life, and he's already gone.

Pike watches after him for at least ten seconds too long before he finally turns back to Sam. "Thought you might need something to do," he says, offering the newspaper to Sam.

"That's the most sensible idea anybody's had all night," Sam says, and he accepts the newspaper. 

His duty dispatched, Pike glances back toward the door.

"He'll be back," Sam says, with the confidence of nearly forty years of experience with Henry Hart's moods. "In the meantime, I'm feeling very fortunate that you came along with supper when you did, Pike. Thank you."

Pike meets Sam's eyes for a minute, then nods gravely. "I'm glad I could help," he says.

Sam's memory may be fuzzy, but he thinks that's a mighty big understatement. He remembers lying down on the couch for an evening nap, feeling dizzy and weak, then waking up when Pike arrived. He remembers the panic when he realized he'd gone numb on the left side of his body and couldn't speak, and the confusion. He knows Pike sat with him while they waited for the ambulance. He can't know what was said, but it was certainly the most he's ever heard Pike Dexter say at a time. 

Sam remembers only bits and pieces of the ride to the hospital, sirens blaring and red lights flashing across Pike's face.

Sam's tired to the bones. He's tired of feeling like something the cat dragged in. All his life, he's looked after other people, and it's hard to live with feeling like a burden now. And one day, he's going to see his Nancy again. But he's not ready yet. He's got projects to whittle. Holidays to celebrate. Nosy neighbors to outlive. A grandson who needs him.

"How are you at crosswords, Mr. Dexter?" Sam asks, adjusting his glasses.

Pike looks like he's giving it serious consideration. Finally, he inclines his head and says, "Passable."

"Well then, by all means, pull up a chair," says Sam, and that's where several rounds of doctors find them, and then eventually Henry does, too. 

"Oh, Pike," Henry says, pulling up short in the doorway. "God, I didn't realize you were still here. I'm sorry. Thank you, so, so much; you can go, really, it's so late."

Pike lowers the folded newspaper into his lap. He's been reading clues out loud and painstakingly penciling in Sam's answers. "I don't mind," he says. It's the first time Sam has ever heard him say boo to Henry.

"It's four in the morning," Henry says, softer.

Sam may have been confused earlier but he was fully in control of his faculties again by the time they reached the emergency room, and he's not a stupid man. There's something here he hasn't seen before.

Pike runs a hand through his hair and looks to Sam helplessly. "You go on now," Sam says. "I need a word with the boy anyhow."

Pike nods and sets the newspaper down in Sam's lap as he rises. He seems set on escaping the room as fast as humanly possible, but Henry catches his arm and Pike freezes. He looks like he's not sure whether to smile or jump out of his skin. "Can I talk to you later?" Henry says.

Pike looks at Henry for a long moment, and then he finally bobs a nod and Henry immediately smiles. Pike looks to Sam. "Feel better, Mr. Hart."

"That I will," says Sam. "Thank you, Pike."

Henry sits down in the chair that Pike just vacated, and doesn't seem to recognize that Pike stepped back but hasn't actually left yet; he's standing in the doorway with his heavy coat in hand. He's looking at Henry like it's the last time he'll ever see him.

"Don't you have a plane to catch?" Sam says to Henry, eyes narrowed. Pike turns on his heel and steps out into the quiet hallway, leaving the two of them alone. 

Henry laughs. Apparently he thinks they're back again now to Sam being the irascible grandfather and Henry the reasonable adult. "Sampa, I'm not leaving; not with you in the hospital."

Sam breathes out sharply. "Don't let me be your excuse. I'll be just fine."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm staying until Christmas."

"Christmas now, is it? I thought it was Saturday."

Henry shrugs, settling more comfortably into his chair. "I changed my mind."

Sam loves Henry something fierce, and he'll always be proud of him. But just for once, he wishes Henry would make up his mind and stick with something. He worries he never will.

* * *

Sam goes home after two days spent in the hospital, with an entire medicine cabinet's worth of new blood pressure medicine. 

The doctors assured them that the nature of mini-strokes is that they leave no permanent damage, but he'll be damned if he isn't tired like he just put up a whole roof single-handed in a day. He spends most of the first afternoon home napping, and he's just woken up and gotten settled at the kitchen table with a new block of wood and a knife when there's a rap at the door.

"I've got it!" Henry calls, and he comes hurrying out of the back room, wiping paint off his hands and straightening out his shirt.

Sam shakes his head at his whittling project, smiling to himself.

At the door, Henry says, startled, "Jim? Hi," and Sam glances over.

Henry steps back into the kitchen, followed by Jim Soams, dotted with snow and carrying a cardboard box.

"Pike was feeling a little ... under the weather," says Jim. He looks both apologetic and distinctly uncomfortable. He hefts the familiar cardboard box. "Got your dinner right here." He sets it down on the table and starts pulling out covered dishes and foil-wrapped packages.

Normally, Henry would jump in and start setting out dishes. He's staring at Jim now. "Is he okay?"

"Oh, he'll be right as rain," Jim promises. "Listen, Didi's got supper on the table back at the house and the weather's getting messy out there, so I'd better get goin', but good to see you up and about, Sam."

"Thanks," says Sam with a nod. He spares another glance for Henry, who looks like he's just been told that the sun shines at night and down is up.

"I'll just let myself out," says Jim with a tug at his cap, and he does just that.

The food that Jim delivered is Widow Thayer's most stunning meal yet. There's a platter of sliced colorful vegetables, arranged in a precise spiral pattern; a loaf of crusty, warm homemade bread; an enormous roasted whole chicken, beautifully browned and smelling like lemons and rosemary. 

Henry finally starts to gather plates and utensils. Sam sets aside his whittling. "Well, look at this," he says, taking a whiff. It smells delicious; it's all still steaming. "I fear the widow has greatly overestimated our appetites."

"She's been outdoing herself this week; I'll have to thank her," Henry says absently, slicing into the chicken. The meat falls off the bone like it's a hot knife through butter. "You should have seen the meals yesterday and the day before."

"Did our Mr. Dexter drop those off?" Sam asks, tucking in.

Henry lowers his fork halfway to his mouth. "I don't know," he says slowly, like he's just realizing it. "I was at the hospital both days, so I just came home and found the box by the back door."

"Hmm," says Sam noncommittally.

They eat in silence. Sam eats, at least. Henry reluctantly pushes vegetables around his plate like he did when he was a boy, tension in every inch of him. 

All at once, he sets down his fork and says, "I'm gay."

Sam looks up from his plate. 

Henry's eyes are a little wide, but otherwise, he looks all right; resolute, his mouth set firmly. "When Pike first called and said you were back in the emergency room, I was terrified I'd never have the chance to tell you," he says. 

Sam's been waiting for this conversation for so many years that he's somehow taken by surprise by it finally happening. "Henry," he says slowly.

"I wanted to tell you. I mean," Henry gestures impatiently, wildly enough that he sends his glass of water teetering, "I know you already know. But."

Sam reaches across the table and pats Henry's hand down before he can actually knock anything over. "I do know," he says, and Henry shuts his eyes and snorts a laugh, "and I'm _so proud_ of you. I always am."

"I know," says Henry thickly.

"I've had a long and very happy life, Henry. I just want to know that you'll have the same. I don't care who with, or where."

Henry meets his eyes and then nods a couple of times.

Sam squeezes his hand, then draws it back to his own plate. "Now, what do you say to eating this delicious meal instead of playing with it?"

Something tight in the set of Henry's mouth eases, and he laughs. "Yeah. I can probably do that."

* * *

It takes some doing to convince Henry that Sam doesn't need to be treated with kid gloves. Henry haunts the place for Sam's first few days home, filling the whole house with the acrid smell of paint fumes. He tries to be nonchalant about it, first blaming the weather for trapping him inside, though they both know John Cornwell's been plowing the driveway and Sam's old Ford does just fine in the snow, and then saying he's got to paint while the inspiration strikes.

Sam sees the boy's smile dip every time Jim Soams comes to their door with another box of beautiful food.

On Sunday, Sam finally snaps. "Did I raise you to sleep in on Sundays?" he calls through Henry's closed bedroom door. "Come on, it's time for church."

The ensuing argument reminds Sam of trying to drag Henry out of bed for school when he was a teenager. Nancy was ruthless and used to resort to splashing water on him, some mornings. Sam is considering it when Henry finally yells, "Okay, okay!"

Henry makes him take the wheelchair, and after the mass, they're suffocated by parishioners with well wishes until the mayor finally rescues them with a wink. But it's nice to get out of the house and see old friends — even Widow Thayer, whose chatter can get too much for Sam.

"Oh, Sam!" she cries. "I'm so glad to see you out and about again. It does a body good."

"Mrs. Thayer," greets Sam. Henry's gone out to start Grace's borrowed car—much easier to climb into than the truck—while Sam sits in his wheelchair inside the vestibule. Until Widow Thayer came bustling up, Sam had some breathing room for a moment. "Henry and I have been saying all week that you're outdoing yourself. I hope you're not going to any extra trouble on our account."

"Outdoing myself — oh, the meals!" Something strange passes across Widow Thayer's face; an emotion that Sam doesn't know how to interpret. "I'm glad you like them."

"Like them? They're some of the finest eats I've ever had," says Sam. "I don't know how you do it."

Widow Thayer's mouth trembles, caught in the grip of strong emotion. "I really couldn't say," she says. "I _shouldn't_. But maybe I should. Sam, I'm not—"

The front doors bang open with a blast of icy air. "Sampa, you ready?" Henry calls.

* * *

"It looked like the widow had you in her clutches," Henry says, once they're on the road. "Did you thank her for all the extra effort this week?"

"I did," says Sam. "Strange conversation." She was trying to tell him something; he's sure of it. 

Henry's swinging through town now, and Sam sees the sign for Dexter's General Store rising up ahead. "Stop at the store, son."

"What?" says Henry, quickly glancing at him. "Are we out of something?"

"Yeah, me — I'm going to be out of my damned mind if I don't get more books soon," Sam predicts darkly. "I've read everything in the house at least five times. Pull over."

"Yooou've got it," Henry says, in that way that means he thinks Sam is being unreasonable, but he turns into the general store parking lot and helps transfer him into the wheelchair without complaining.

Henry wheels him straight to the lending library just inside the store's front door, and leaves him there to start looking through the shelf of old Zane Grey novels.

Behind Sam, Henry says, "Pike, hi," and Sam glances over his shoulder. Henry is approaching the counter, where Pike is trying to hide his face behind a book. The store is unusually empty today. With church just getting out, Jim Soams and the Seven Dwarves may not have arrived yet.

"Jim said you weren't feeling great; are you doing okay?"

Pike slowly lowers his book. "I'm fine. Thanks." His posture reminds Sam of a wounded animal that's been backed into a corner, but somehow, at the same time, he looks like all he wants to do is lean toward Henry. It's obviously not for lack of feeling that he's been staying away.

"Oh," says Henry softly. "Well. Good. We've missed seeing you around the house."

Pike nods jerkily.

Henry's not wrong. Sam has missed his conversations with Pike, too; he's a kind man, and a tremendous listener. 

Sam plucks _Riders of the Purple Sage_ off the shelf and drops it into his lap, then starts wheeling himself toward the counter. The store has its usual mix of things — a rack of huge lollipops, a display of cigarettes, the rack of newspapers and tabloids right in front of the counter. It's the last one that catches Sam's eye. There's an unusual pop of color among all the _National Enquirer_ and _USA Today_ headlines.

It's a thick stack of glossy, battered magazines, sticking out haphazardly like somebody chucked them into the rack in a hurry. It's not the sort of stuff you usually find at Dexter's; the first two titles are _Bon Appetit_ and _Food and Wine_.

The cover photo on the topmost magazine, staring Sam in the face, is of a casserole dish lined with brightly-colored sliced vegetables in a very distinct spiral pattern.

He stares at the magazines, a particular suspicion rising.

Henry hasn't noticed them. He probably won't; they're just barely below Sam's eye level, in the wheelchair. "How's Frances?" he's asking, still in that unfamiliar, cautious tone that Sam's never heard him use before.

"Fine," says Pike. He shifts his weight. "Are you— I heard you're leaving. After Christmas."

"Oh," says Henry, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, I mean, that's the plan."

Pike's shoulders droop.

Someone has been spending hours slaving away in a hot kitchen over those meals, and it's been Pike all along. Henry has no earthly idea, Sam knows, but he's looking at Pike tenderly, hopefully, all the same.

This is not a problem of lack of feeling at all. 

"Mr. Dexter," says Sam, and both Pike and Henry snap to look at him like they forgot they weren't alone. "I'd like to borrow this from your fine establishment." He holds up the Zane Grey novel.

"You don't have to ask," says Pike. "They're here for people to take." He pauses for a beat. The silence isn't nearly as excruciating now that he's talking to Sam instead. "How're you feeling?"

"Much improved, thank you," says Sam, and he lifts his eyebrows at Henry.

"Uh, right," says Henry, and then he straightens up. "Right. Let's get you home."

"Pike," says Sam. "Come by the house when you're feeling up to it."

All his life, Sam has been a strong believer in letting things play out as God intended. He let first his son, then his grandson, learn by sometimes failing. He didn't stick his nose in. He minded his own business and he waited. 

But he's realizing maybe that isn't always the best way of things, with Henry. Sam waited nearly twenty years before Henry finally told him he was gay, and then they haven't talked about it again because Henry hasn't brought it up.

Maybe he can meet Henry halfway. 

Sam is silent as they're going back out to the car, but once they're back on the road, he opens his mouth. "That boy looks at you like you hung the moon." 

"Sampa!" Henry jerks the wheel in surprise; just enough to jolt the car.

"Careful now," says Sam. "He has since the first time he brought over supper."

"Since we were kids, I think," Henry admits, unexpectedly. "I didn't see it before. But you saw that in there; he doesn't want to talk to me."

"I don't think it's a problem of wanting," says Sam, and Henry shakes his head, mouth drawn up tightly.

Maybe a little nudge, every once in a while, can't hurt.

* * *

The calendar creeps another week closer to Christmas. Sam finally convinces Henry that he can and should leave him alone in the house, and Henry goes to the school to help Grace ("just a temporary thing," he says) some mornings. He meets Anna Rudolph for lunch. He heads to Whitefish with Jenny and Carol one afternoon, and comes back late and smiling.

Sam has always let his grandson make his own decisions. He won't tell him what to do. But he knows what he thinks the right decision is, and he hopes Henry will find it. He gets more hopeful by the day, especially after he overhears Henry on the phone, one morning.

"I don't know, Mary Margaret!" Henry says, clearly exasperated. "It's really beautiful here, you know, and I _am_ getting a lot of painting done. Is that so bad?"

Later that same afternoon, Sam shouts, "Come in!" to the knock on the door, and it's Pike Dexter who comes inside stamping snow off his boots.

"Pike," Sam says, slowly removing his glasses. "Glad to see you. Come right in."

"I can't stay long," Pike says. It sounds as if he's been rehearsing it, but then he looks around.

"Henry's painting," says Sam, tipping his head toward the back room. The door is shut, but he can hear Henry's music playing, muffled, through the door. "I'm left to fend for myself, this evening."

Pike sets his box down on the table. He sneaks a glance at the closed door, like he can't help himself. "He's very talented," he says.

"He is," agrees Sam. "Got two pieces in the Whitney Museum of American Art." He's still tickled by it — a Hart with paintings in a famous museum in New York. Imagine that.

Pike doesn't look surprised by the news, but he's smiling all the same. He puts out a platter with a beautifully grilled piece of pink salmon and some kind of creamy, pale green sauce that smells like fresh basil.

Sam folds his glasses and sets them down on the table. "I have to thank you, Pike, for all the work you've been putting in."

"It's nothing," he says, shrugging uncomfortably. "Just some driving."

"I think we both know that's not the case," Sam says, and Pike freezes and goes utterly stiff.

Pike's eyes slowly rise. He looks across the table. He looks sick.

"I haven't said anything," says Sam. "I figure it's not mine to tell."

Pike stares at him, still wild-eyed, then finally says, "Thank you."

"Now, do you ever get to enjoy these things you're making?"

"I like making them," Pike says, a little defensively, putting down a plate of rice. 

"I'm talking about eating them, Pike," says Sam.

His pause speaks volumes. "I taste everything," he says.

"That just won't do," says Sam. "Come on. Sit down and eat with me. There's enough for an army. An old man needs company, and I probably won't see Henry for hours."

Pike wants to stay, Sam thinks. He can practically see the argument warring across his face. "Frances is in my truck," he says, finally.

"Well, bring her in, then; what's a house without a dog, anyway?" says Sam, and Pike blinks and then smiles.

By the time Henry does surface, Sam and Pike have finished eating and cleaned up after themselves, and Sam has talked Pike into staying for a cup of coffee. There are leftovers for Henry, carefully tucked in foil in the warm oven. There's a dog sleeping under Sam's chair. It's all very comfortable.

"Pike!" Henry says in surprise, the name sounding like it's been punched out of him. He takes an immediate step closer. "Hi." His hands, arms, and flannel shirt are all splattered with blue, white, purple, black, and silver paint.

Pike, who has been easily talking and smiling for the last hour, now looks like he's going to bolt. Sam sees him swallow hard. "Hello," he says. 

Sam's presence isn't needed here. "There's supper for you in the oven," he says, and he pushes his chair back. "I've been sitting too long." With a jangle of tags, Frances shifts out from under Sam's feet and whines under the table.

Henry hurries over to help him up from his chair. "Oh, stop it; at least let a man take a piss by himself, would you?" Sam grumbles, and Henry lets him go once he's up and has his cane in hand.

As he passes Pike, Sam claps him on the shoulder, hopefully hard enough to encourage him to stay in his chair, and he leaves the two of them looking at each other across the kitchen.

Sam walks into the bathroom and closes the door, then washes his hands and leans on the sink. He waits for a few minutes—he doesn't hear the screen door bang shut, which seems like a good sign—then steps out.

In the kitchen, Henry's sat down. He's leaning across the table. His hand is on Pike's forearm. Pike is listening, and while he can be a tough nut to crack, it's clear enough that he badly wants to hear whatever it is that Henry is earnestly saying to him. His whole expression has gone soft.

Sam backs out to the living room, where he'd left a book on the couch earlier in the day. He stokes the embers in the fireplace back to life, and settles down to read, half an ear on muffled voices in the kitchen. 

After a time, the voices stop. Frances comes trotting in and sits down at Sam's feet. "Good dog," he says, and he ruffles her ears.

Later, after Pike has gone, Henry comes into the living room shaking his head incredulously. "Did you know he stopped delivering Widow Thayer's meals months ago?"

"The man's a damn fine cook," says Sam, turning the page in his book, and he sees Henry slowly smile.

* * *

The first time Sam steps into his kitchen to find Pike rolling up his sleeves over a counter full of ingredients, he smiles.

"Mr. Hart," Pike says gravely. Henry's hand is all over this. No doubt he'll be along soon to chop uneven vegetable slices until the knife's taken away from him. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," says Sam, settling at the table. "So long as I won't be in your way."

"You won't be," says Pike.

"And Pike?"

He glances back from the kitchen sink, cabbage in hand.

Yesterday, Sam narrowly avoided walking into Pike laughing and canoodling with his grandson in his pantry. "I think you'd better make it 'Sam.' "

* * *

On Christmas Eve, Sam puts his feet up and lets Henry do the last cleaning before their guests are due to start arriving. Age before youth, and all that. 

Sam's been perfecting his model of the general store. Seemed timely. "You buy your plane ticket yet?" he asks, trimming off a knob in the wood, and Henry stops in his tracks. "It _was_ Christmas you're aiming for, right?"

Henry turns toward him, handheld vacuum poised. "I don't think I'm going back to New York," he says.

"Oh?" says Sam, lowering the model into his lap. "You _think_ you'll be staying, or you'll be staying?"

Henry comes over to the couch. He looks at the wood shavings on the cushions and gives Sam a look, then vacuums them up and sets the Dust Devil aside. He sits down beside him.

Sam thought he had an idea of what Henry's decision might be, but the boy's making him nervous now.

Henry draws in another deep breath. "I'm staying for good, Sampa," he says. "I already argued with Mary Margaret; I can't go back on it now." 

Sam cracks a huge smile and Henry grins back at him, a little sheepish, then laughs when Sam puts a celebratory arm around him.

"It's a fine decision, Henry," says Sam.

He has a feeling this one will stick.


End file.
